The True Freedom Edition

Freedom is an interesting concept. There's many different meanings to freedom. The hostages that were freed from FARC this week in Columbia know a meaning to freedom that most won't.

Which, by the way, was an awesome story. I could read about it over and over and never tire. It's like a movie plot, but real. It's only a matter of time before it gets made into a movie a la Donnie Brasco.

This week I've learned a different meaning to freedom. My dear friend Rose went home to be with the Lord this weekend.

Rose and my mom have been good friends for 24 years. I've babysat her grandsons, tiptoed through the tulip festival with her and shared many laughs. She was a true encourager and a very compassionate woman.

God decided to call her home unexpectantly. She was only 65. Much too young by human standards.

Rose was planning to retire next year. She's held many mediocre jobs in her life and was looking forward to the day when she wouldn't have to anymore. She could travel to see her daughter and spend time with her grandkids.

God had a different plan. He decided to free Rose from that job earlier than she had planned. Why I don't understand why He decided it was Rose's time, I'm glad to know I'll see her again. Glad to know that she is with Him free from any of the sufferings on earth.

She's now with Kellen, her grandson. While I know I'll miss her and the friendship she shared with my mom, I'm so blessed I had the opportunity to know her. To spend time with her enjoying life.

John 8:36: So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.

The Friday Five Faves Edition - Vol. 2

I realized, after Dena asked me to participate in 5 Fave Friday posts, this is right up my alley. I list everything in Top 5's. It's part my Type-A personality and part desire to be more like David Letterman, but with 5 instead of 10.

Probably less witty.


Definitely not read to an audience by some celebrity. Unless you consider your self a celebrity.


Here is my Top 5 Friday Faves...in no particular order:


1) My new issue of Paper Crafts. I love getting it in the mail. It inspires me to do a card or a page for my scrapbook like no other. Plus it gives really great ideas for graduation cards, baby/bridal shower card and wedding cards. All things I struggle with.


2) Janet Evanovich. I've never actually met her, but she looks darling staring out from the back cover of her novels. Specifically I love her Stephanie Plum series. I happened to stumble upon them about 6 years ago. It was during my romance novel phase. I went to the bookstore to find yet another romance novel and someone had misfiled One for the Money.


It's safe to say that book freaked me out. Utterly and completely freaked me out. I was living alone at the time and am a big, scaredy cat by nature. To read about some mystery involving a rapist and a woman living in an apartment alone, I was putting that book in the freezer at night and wedging a chair under the door. I got through it and am now a faithful follower of Stephanie Plum.


3) Fireworks. Growing up we used to go the road side stand and buy enough to have our own show in the middle of our street. I would run down the road with my sparklers, scream when the ground flowers got a little out of control and enjoy the pretty fountains of gold, silver, red and blue.


I was also the girl that sat holding onto the hose. I was sure the house was going to catch on fire and my belongings, including my teddy bear and He-Man collection would be lost forever. I've always been a little on the wild side.


4) Coach Outlets. I love getting a deal. Especially if that deal means I'll forever be united with a Coach purse. I bought one 2 years ago and it still looks new today. I'm not easy on purses.


We all know it's essential that a girl have a good purse that matches every outfit.


Praise the Lord for a Coach outlet. That $300 purse looks much more appealing with a $125 price tag.


5) Bermuda shorts. I'm not a big fan of the short. I'm actually envious that men get cargo shorts that look comfortable and casual. While women get shorts that are either made for my women who want to wear the waistband mid-rib cage or for a teenager with a metabolism that I vaguely remember.


Enter my friend Bermuda. It fits around a normal waist and covers the cellulite that the miracle of pregnancy keeps giving after all this time. All hail the Bermuda shorts. How I love thee.


Let freedom ring! Have a Happy 4th of July.

The Beached Whale Edition

Yesterday I was reading through some old e-mails. When I say old, I mean almost 2 years old. In history, that's nothing. In e-mail world, that's a long time and 1,000's of e-mails later. I think it would be safe to say that e-mail time is somewhat related to dog years.

I found an e-mail from December of 2006 when I was pregnant and blissfully unaware that both of us would be fighting for life in a mere 7 weeks. We were planning for the holidays and going to Hawaii to be with N's family for the new year. It's safe to say my biggest concerns were holiday shopping and what does a pregnant woman where on the beach in O'ahu?

On one hand I was glad that I could have a large belly and everyone would think my swimsuit was darling. On the other, it's humid in O'ahu in December and I'm not a girl who does well in heat, let alone when I'm packing another human.

Perhaps I should've remembered that before the basketball tourney last week. Oh how quickly I forget.

In several of the e-mails I referenced Zoe moving and being active. Was she ever! Those preachy What to Expect books said that my baby should have times of sleep and activity. I never thought Zoe slept. The girl moved ALL the time. I think her moments of sleep were from 5:00-7:00 every morning and that's it. That was a scary thought!

I found one e-mail in particular that made me cry. It wasn't about anything in particular. It told about N and I sitting on the couch, he was playing some computer game, I was watching Food Network (let's face it, that's a pregnant woman's channel), we felt Zoe move and got so excited. She was getting stronger.

I don't why that particular e-mail touched me so much. Probably because we still get just as excited to see her crawl or climb or eat with her very own fork. Now she joins in with the clapping and the excitement.

In December of 2006 I couldn't wait to meet her, see her personality and love on her. I was experiencing a small glimpse into my life as an expectant mom.

Now in July 2007 I see the personality that's coming out and realize that everything I had prayed for came true. She finds the joy in life, she smiles all the time, she has ideas that she's not afraid to share, she's confident and growing into such a fun girl.

I was cuddling with her before bed last night and she reached out to run my arm. I realized God answered a prayer I never asked for out loud. She's also full of so much love.

The I'll take a grande, non-fat, peppermint mocha minus the spare tire Edition

I have a confession to make. It's a confession that with no gray area. You will either continue to be my friend or you may cut me out completely. However, my mind is made up.

I don't like watching Oprah.

It's not that I don't like Oprah, but she's lost of the personal-ness of her early years. She'd be in the audience, asking questions and struggling to find the perfect outfit like the rest of us.

Then she found Bob Greene, Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz. She hired a chef, barista, stylist, hair dresser and make-up artist. She's got a magazine, a radio show and a media empire that would make Ted Turner proud.

I will agree that Oprah has done amazing things for women in this country. To be on top of Forbes wealthiest people's list and to be generous. That's character.

Or great tax planning.

Oh, I kid. She does great give-a-ways. I'm all about that kind of generousity.

I'm not so much into the spirituality of her show. She continually talks about how it's all in us to do amazing things with our life. That's where she loses me. It's all in me because God's in me. It's all about how God is working in me and not about anything that I do.

That's another post. For another day.

About a month ago I was home with a sick kid and she had a woman on her show talking about a 21-day cleanse. I knew this meant giving up some things like bacon, potato chips and birthday cake. Which are part of my basic food groups.

As I listened, I quickly realized what cleanse meant. It was about going vegan. Oh the horror. I really admire anyone that can give up all the goodness that is meat for tofu or giving up milk for soy. That has to take dedication.

Dedication that I lack. Sometimes a girl needs her ice cream. Or her bacon.

That got me thinking. This 21-day cleanse will do just that. No meat, no dairy, no caffiene. It's all roughage. When they say cleanse, they mean cleanse.

This could get me swimsuit ready. Sometimes a girl has to take drastic measures for swimsuit season.

The lady who wrote the book said to Oprah, "it's about progress, not perfection." To start my progress and my swimsuit preparation, I decided to cut out caffiene.

It's going to take many more weeks to even begin contemplating eliminating ice cream and bacon. A girl has to have standards.

I started my cleanse on Monday. I knew the Starbucks mocha was the culprit for my spare tire. I knew if I eliminated that, not only would I be svelt, but I would also have more money in my pocket to buy the new wardrobe I would need.

I also liked the term cleanse. Sounded like I was being healthy. In reality I was detoxing. The thought of not getting a mocha in the morning was enough to send me into a corner, in the fetal position, crying that I needed a fix.

I'm not going to lie, Monday was hard. Being in that fetal position most of the day made me a little sore. Without a mocha to help the anxiety, I was jonesing by 8:30 am.

Tuesday wasn't a peach either. I turned off the monitor while Zoe cried. The lack of peppermint and mocha made me ignore my child.

I realized yesterday the power of the peppermint.

I was crazy talking. Giving up the peppermint and the mocha was hurting my relationship with my daughter.

I gave in to the need for Starbucks this morning. It's like my car was on autopilot taking me to the land of sweet mochas and cinnamon scones. It is the reason I get up in the morning.

Oh Starbucks, I'm so powerless to you. You call to me in my sleep with promises of chocolate and caffiene. I am but a mere mortal.

Perhaps if I hired a personal barista I could get the mocha without the spare tire. Now that would be progress and perfection.

The Mother of the Year Edition

The heat is zapping any energy I have. The sign at a bank yesterday said it was 103 outside. That is just plain wrong on so many levels.

I think I could fry up some burgers on the dash of my car yesterday.

Last night, after I got home, Zoe and I had to make a trip out in the heat. I had asked April James to make a measuring stick for Zoe's room. It turned out lovely. She is an amazing artist. I'm so pleased. This picture doesn't do it justice. If you like it, you can go to her blog and e-mail her. She's wonderful to work with.

After we got home to our air conditioning and cooled down. Zoe and I played a little. She's starting to climb. Which is great because it does eliminate the concern of cerebral palsy.

However, she is a woman on a mission. A mission to climb the highest moutain.

She was trying to stand on top of her pretend kitchen last night to reach Handy Manny on television. She's his biggest fan.

Which I don't understand. He only has three fingers and all his tools do all the work for him. Really it's not Handy Manny, it's Tools That Do Their Job Without A Human and Talk. I guess in the city they live in, people would think talking tools are weird without some handyman carrying them around. Then again this is the same city where Mr. Lopart and his cat Fluffy both have a comb-over and take baths in their candy shop. Who am I to judge.

I guess I need to watch some adult TV shows soon.

Back to what I was saying, all this climbing wears me out. I can only sit on the couch, eat ice cream and say, "get down from there" so many times. It's exhausting.

So exhausting that I turned off Zoe's monitor last night in my sleep. I'm assuming I did this when she started to cry. If that's not Mother of the Year potential, I don't know what is.

Fortunately for Zoe, her grandma got up and fed her a bottle since her mother decided in her sleep that her child could go without for one night.

Doesn't she understand that a mommy needs sleep. Deep, quiet sleep. None of this get up in the middle of the night for a bottle. She's climbing, she can get herself out of that crib, shimmy down the dresser and get her bottle.

Who am I kidding? I'm a big softy. The first little whimper out of sweet Zoe usually catapolts me out of bed faster than Handy Manny and his tools can teach my daughter Spanish. That's saying something.

Today I'm living with parental guilt. I ignored my child's cry. I wonder how much in therapy bills this is going to cost me later.

The Little Pink Lady Edition

It is safe to say the life of a biker wife is a lonely one.

We barely saw N this weekend. Although, I'm positive I would've been checking his forehead for a fever if he was home much. To attain the status of cool rider, one must ride.

And ride he did.

On the way to church yesterday, Zoe saw him riding next to us. She was yelling for him and waving. She about jumped out her carseat with excitement when he honked.

I think she's officially our biker baby. Lord help us!

N is officially the coolest guy at church. I saw 3 close accidents in the church parking lot of men stopping to check out his ride. That bike is a testosterone magnet. While N may be the hit of the male population at church, my love of the bike is not shared by many wives.

I saw quite a few eye rolls.

Maybe they're right. It isn't the safest and the call of the bike is strong.

I'm learning, as a biker wife, you have to find some way to encourage your biker to come home. Fortunately I know the key to N's heart.

A grilled steak.

He knows I'll burn the meat to an inch of crisp, so he raced home to BBQ. Zoe kept staring out the window as though he might honk at her again.

I think she's in love!


With her daddy and his bike!

I was hoping she had some sort of pink jacket so she could be his first Pink Lady. It was 98 degrees outside. That would just be plain mean.

Even more so than dragging her to the basketball tourney in a back-pack.

The ‘cause he’s a coo-ooo-ooo-oool rider Edition

Zoe’s new Kelty Kids 2.1 is awesome. Especially if you consider sweat dripping down your back and having crowd rage awesome.

I knew there would be basketball players and fans. I didn’t know how much the heat would zap people’s ability to walk at any speed faster than a one of those cable internet Slowsky turtles.

Then again I had a 24 pound monkey on my back. I may have had a perception problem. That Kelty manual writer knew what he was talking about.

We weaved through 180,000 of our closest friends to see my sister and nephew at their concession booth. To purchase a $2 bottle of water. I hope when my nephew makes it to the NHL he remembers my dedication to his career.

I’m sure I’ll have to remind him a few times. At least weekly until he’s 55 or so.

In my moment of heat exhaustion I agreed to addition of a new family member.

No, I’m not pregnant.

I’m a biker wife.

I have my very own coo-ooo-ooo-oool rider. If you haven’t seen the cinematic masterpiece that is Grease 2, you are missing out.

We’re trying to think of a name of his gang. Since Wild Hogs is taken, I thought perhaps The Road Generals. He prefers Wild Saints. Quite honestly, it sounds a bit like a rebellious priest who takes the convent’s hog out for a spin after mass.

That’s not really what I had envisioned for N. I’m not sure what that makes me.

Although, my helmet does have a sweet pink rose on it. I’m not sure a priest would be driving around with a rose wearing woman!

I’ve been around the block twice. My hands are almost unclasped. Thankfully I’m having Zoe type this for me. She’s a whiz. She works for cheap.

We’re hoping we’ll see N sometime within the next week or so. Apparently the call of the pavement is strong.